“You can comfort yourself with the reflection that it is not on your conscience at all, but on mine,” interrupted the Earl.
“She is going to the Pavilion to-night,” said Captain Audley inconsequently.
“Yes, and so am I,” replied the Earl. “Do you go too, or do you propose to sit and mourn over Peregrine’s plight?”
“Oh, be quiet, Julian! I suppose I must go, but I tell you frankly I feel little better than a murderer!”
“In that case you would be wise to order dinner to be put forward,” recommended the Earl. “You will feel better when you have eaten and drunk.”
“How are you going to get him out of the house?” asked the Captain, looking towards the couch again.
“Very simply. Evans will come in by the back way and I shall give the boy over to him. He will do the rest.”
“Well, I hope to God it does not all fail!” said Captain Audley devoutly.
But no hitch occurred in the Earl’s plans. At eleven o’clock a plain coach drove unobtrusively into the alley, and a couple of sturdy-looking men got out, and softly entered the yard through the unlocked gate. No one was stirring above the stables, and the men made no sound as they went up the iron steps to the back door. It was opened to them by the Earl, who had changed his cloth coat and pale yellow pantaloons for knee-breeches, and a satin coat. He pointed silently to the book-room. Five minutes later he had seen Peregrine’s limp body, wrapped round in a frieze cloak, put into the coach, and had returned to the house, and locked the back door. Then he examined the set of his cravat in the mirror that hung in the hall, picked up his hat and gloves and walked out of the house, across the Steyne to the Pavilion.